Camp Out
by LaylaBinx
Summary: Glenn still isn't really sure how he ended up sharing a tent with Daryl Dixon at the end of the day. Pointless fluff and cuteness :D
1. Glenn

**Hello all! This is my first endeavor into the wonderful world of the Walking Dead so please don't be too harsh on me just yet! This story can be read as slash or bromance, whatever you're comfortable with! Hope you all enjoy it! :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing =/**

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If you had asked Glenn six months ago to make a list of things he never thought would happen, the number one thing probably would have been the zombie apocalypse wiping out nearly the entire population of the planet. Second would have been winning the multi-million dollar lottery but seeing as how monetary value now has about as much worth as the paper it's printed on that seems pretty pointless in the long run. Third would have definitely been sharing a tent with Daryl Dixon. Well, he's sitting at two for three at the moment and the lottery thing didn't really seem feasible anymore so he figures he's at least somewhat broken even.

It's late, probably close to midnight judging from the position of the crescent moon over the top of the tent, and Glenn can't sleep. He's staring at the darkened vinyl blankly, trying his hardest to figure out how he ended up in this position in the first place. Part of it had been that storm Wednesday night that destroyed his tent, he knew that much, but he was still somewhat unsure how he had ended up in _Daryl's _tent at the end of the day. Dale had offered the RV and there were certainly spare tents somewhere in the multitude of supplies they'd accumulated over the past couple of months so how did he end up here? He thinks part of it has to do with the fact that he feels safer with Daryl than anyone else in the group because the man could put an arrow through a squirrel's eye at a hundred paces and not even think twice about it. He's also vaguely terrified of him so the situation seems inherently flawed at the seams no matter how he looks at it.

The man in question is about a foot away from him, turned on one side so his back is facing Glenn. He had been one of the last to offer up the use of his tent to Glenn but his logic had made the most sense: the tent was huge, it had been big enough to fit both Daryl and Merle back when they first arrived at camp and all of Merle's possessions were still inside of it including an extra sleeping bag. When Glenn had hesitantly agreed to stay with Daryl for the time being, the latter had simply led him over to the tent and nodded to the tangled mass of sleeping bag in the corner without a word. Glenn had stared at it like a deer in the headlights for a few seconds, vaguely wondering if there was a bear trap somehow sewn into the bottom of it. What little he knew about Merle made that idea entirely possible. Daryl hadn't said anything when they were getting ready to turn in for the night, he just turned his back to the younger man and crouched down on his side of the tent, cleaning his crossbow like it was the most natural thing in the world. Glenn was really beginning to question whether or not this was such a good idea.

He hears Shane get up after a few hours and make his way to the RV for watch duty. Its one of the rare nights that neither Glenn nor Daryl had been chosen to take a shift and it should be a relief to get a little extra sleep during the night. It's not though and Glenn is left staring at the dark ceiling of the tent for hours, fidgeting with the sleek lining of the sleeping bag to keep going out of his mind as he listens to Daryl breathe beside him.

Its cold tonight, the storm had brought in a northern front that had dropped the temperature several degrees in a matter of hours. The usual Georgia heat is now little more than a distant memory in the wake of the upper 40s, lower 50s weather they'd been experiencing for the past few days. It's not at all unpleasant but it's hard to prepare for something like that especially without the use of a weather forecast anymore. Usually all you had to do was flip on the weather channel and figure out how to dress accordingly but with the power grid now more than likely permanently shut down that was no longer an option. Glenn wouldn't have minded it so much if he had thought to snag some warmer clothes before running out of his apartment while the landlord-turned-Walker made a grab for him. He'd packed shorts and a few t-shirts and that was it. He regrets it now as he starts to shiver.

The lining of the sleeping bag is polyester and smells like a putrid mixture of stale beer and vomit; Glenn has no doubt this used to belong to Merle. There are various rough patches where a wayward cigarette had met its end and it's somewhat amazing the entire sleeping bag didn't go up in flames on more than one occasion. The silky lining is cold and thin against his skin and the lightest touch makes him shiver all over again. It's not retaining body heat very well and what little padding there was left inside is all haphazardly scattered out through the sleeping bag in a way that wouldn't have done him much good anyway. He shivers again, a little more violently this time, and his fingers clench in the thin fabric a bit tighter.

"Yer makin' an awful lot of racket for someone who's supposed to be asleep," a graveled voice mutters from the other side of the tent and Glenn damn near jumps out of his skin when he realizes Daryl is awake. He had been almost certain the other man had been asleep for over an hour now. Daryl rolls onto his back and gives the younger man a cursory glance in the darkness of the tent.

"S-sorry…just more awake than I thought I was, I guess," Glenn mumbles, trying to think of anything that would take his mind off of both the cold and the fact that Daryl was now staring at him. He tries to start naming the states in alphabetical order and gets to Connecticut before he gives up.

Beside him, Daryl sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, staring up at the top of the tent in the same way Glenn is doing. "Fuckin' freezing in here," he mutters, absently rubbing his sleeveless arms in an attempt to force some blood flow into his chilled limbs.

"Maybe you should start wearing shirts that have sleeves then." Glenn really wishes there was an angle in which he could punch himself in the mouth and mean it after a comment like that. He sort of expects Daryl to do it for him and is honestly quite surprised when the older man simply snorts a laugh and smirks.

"Keep up with that attitude and I'll kick yer scrawny yellow ass outside and let you freeze to death." It's a thinly veiled threat but then again most of what comes tumbling out of Daryl's mouth is. Glenn had learned long ago that a lot of what Daryl said to and around the group was just to keep up appearance and that he was beginning to actually give a shit whether they all croaked and died or not. He knows a lot of it came from growing up with Merle and figures that of the two brothers Daryl is the one who would most likely offer assistance if it ever came down to it. He's pretty sure Merle wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire. It's a horrible thing to think, even worse to admit, but he's almost glad some days that Merle isn't with the group anymore.

Glenn shivers again and this time there's a sudden influx of chattering teeth that accompany the chill. He tries to hide it but when your jaw is vibrating like you just licked a jackhammer it's a little hard to ignore. He crosses his arms over his chest under the top layer of the sleeping bag, much in the same way Daryl is doing, and hopes that it will conserve what little body heat he still possesses. It doesn't do much and if anything it only taunts him for trying. Glenn is beginning to regret this idea more and more with each passing second. He's also beginning to realize that he might be laying on a tree root.

"Come 'ere." The words startle him and his physically shakes himself out of his reverie and looks over at Daryl to make sure he heard him at all.

"What?"

"I said come 'ere. I ain't got all day," Daryl mutters but he's not looking at Glenn, he's still staring at the top of the tent.

"Why-?"

"Jesus, kid, do I gotta spell it out for you? It's fuckin' cold and the two of us lyin' apart like this ain't makin' things any better. So get over here and stop bein' such a damn idiot." The words come out in an agitated huff but there's an underlying tone of hesitation like Daryl is almost embarrassed by what he's asking. Glenn is still too dumbfounded and cold to move and all he can do is stare at the older man like he's grown a second head. "God dammit…" Daryl mutters after a second before he reaches out and grabs a handful of Glenn's sleeping bag, hauling him one-handed across the tarp floor of the tent and pulling him to a stop right next to his own bag.

Daryl turns on his side so he's facing Glenn and fumbles with the zipper of the sleeping bag, cursing when it gets stuck in the polyester fabric. After a few seconds, he emerges victorious and manages to get the zipper undone, reaching into Glenn's bag and grabbing hold of the kid's skinny, cold arm. Glenn has just enough time to let out a startled gasp before he's pulled from his own sleeping bag and swathed inside of Daryl's, immediately squished up against the older man's chest.

Glenn freezes almost instantly, rigid like a plank in Daryl's arms, and for a second he literally forgets how to breathe. He knows a lot of this behavior has to do with the fact that it really is uncomfortably cold right now and combined body heat is the best way to stay warm on a night like this but there's still a small part of him, the part that is still somewhat terrified of Daryl, that wonders if the hunter is about to snap his neck and use his corpse as Walker fodder. His heart is thumping hard and fast against Daryl's shoulder and he would have squirmed if the position had given him that kind of freedom.

Daryl seems to notice his discomfort and chuckles slightly, shifting his shoulder a little so he's more comfortable. "Relax, Short Round. I'm ain't gonna do anything' to ya." The words are designed to soothe and comfort but Glenn feels anything but comforted. He feels tense like a bow string, his muscles so tight they hurt, and he wonders how long he can stay like this before something akin to rigor mortis sets in.

They lay like that for a long time, Daryl's arms wrapped loosely around Glenn's body, and Glenn has to admit that he's much more comfortable now than he had been earlier. He's definitely warmer but he's not sure how much of that is from Daryl's combined body heat and how much of it is from the fact that his blushing like a teenage girl with her first crush. He tries to wiggle a bit, get a bit more comfortable in Daryl's arms, but the movement only makes him more uncomfortable. He adjusts his arms, allowing them to carefully and cautiously snake around Daryl's back and rest against the solid muscle there. When his wrist doesn't get snapped like a twig he figures the movement didn't cause any offense so he lets his hands linger on the warmth of Daryl's back. He squirms again, snuggling closer at first and pushing away a bit a few seconds later but none of it seems to do any good. Maybe if he could just get his head to-

"I swear to God if you don't stop movin' I'm gonna to string you up by yer ankles and let the Walkers use you as a piñata," Daryl mutters above his head and he shifts once, tossing one leg over Glenn's hips and effectively pinning him to the ground. He moves his head a bit, tucking the younger man's head beneath his chin and tightening his hold on him slightly.

All at once Glenn feels comfortable and safe and warm and it's suddenly like everything is right in the world. He can feel Daryl's breath tickling his hair ever so slightly as he breathes and the constant inhale and exhale is enough to lull him into relaxation. Daryl smells like grass and leaves and sunshine and Glenn decides that this definitely isn't a terrible way to spend the night after all. He closes his eyes and snuggles a bit closer, smiling just slightly when Daryl's arms wrap around him a bit tighter.

He's very nearly asleep when he hears the older man's sleep-soft mumble. "You tell anyone about this and I cut yer tongue out, got it?"

Glenn just smirks and nods. "Got it."

"Good."

The conversations stop, the tent grows silent, and Glenn feels safe and warm for the first time in a long time.

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**So was it okay? Should I keep my day job? I think I'm going to write a follow up chapter from Daryl's POV just to round everything out lol. Thanks for reading! :D**


	2. Daryl

**Haha, thank you guys for the reviews! I'm so happy you like it so far! Here's the follow up chapter! Hope you like it! :D**

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Daryl Dixon is not what you would call a people person. Never has been and likely never will be thanks to a good majority of the population turning into grotesque, shambling corpses with a taste for human flesh. So yeah, the likelihood of him suddenly turning into someone who can stand the general population gets slimmer with each passing day and each new member of the walking dead. It's kind of a shame actually to think that the only real social interactions he ever had growing up were with Merle and his pa. He has no idea where his mother is, she left when he was two, and if she hadn't died with a needle in her arm before the zombie apocalypse started then he has no doubt she's one of them now. He avoided social interactions like the plague before the real plague even started. So it seems almost ironic that he survived the initial outbreak of Walkers and got mixed up in a group of survivors where he has to be socially inclined on a daily basis. Oh well, the whole world has turned to shit, why should what's left of it be any different?

He thinks it's funny in a way that he was the one who talked Merle into staying with the group when they first found them. He'd stumbled across Carl and Sophia and two of the other kids in the woods and had followed them back to their little camp by the quarry. It was about two months after the CDC completely lost their shit and control of the Walkers and had issued the evacuation of Atlanta. Daryl figured the group wouldn't last more than another month before they were all picked off by the Walkers for their stupidity. In the end he doesn't know why he stayed, maybe it was out of pity or maybe it was because he felt they had a better chance in a group than alone. Merle stayed because there would be more bodies to throw in the way in case a horde of Walkers ambushed them. His brother had always been the sentimental type.

Speaking of sentimental, Daryl's really not sure how Glenn ended up in his tent. Actually he knows how, the kid's tent had had a rather nasty run in with a tree branch the other night during a storm, but he's not sure why _his _tent had been chosen for a suitable temporary home. Sure, he'd offered out of some obligated sense of duty but he hadn't actually expected the kid to agree. The Korean always seemed to get that oh-shit-don't-shoot-me look on his face whenever he was in close proximity to Daryl and staying with him in a tent seemed like it would double that terror. It was really fucking annoying; if he wanted to shoot him he would have done it a long time ago. It's odd that Daryl actually hates the kid less than the other members of the group. Okay, so he doesn't hate them…he doesn't necessarily like them all that much but he tolerates them and puts up with their shit because it just comes with the territory now. But he tolerates Glenn a lot more than the others because the kid has more than paid his dues in Daryl's eyes and is actually a valuable member of the group. He doesn't know anyone else in the group that could make supply runs as quickly or half as efficiently as Glenn so he earns a bit of Daryl's respect in that regard.

Glenn had also been the only one to offer to go back into the city with him to search for Merle. Just before they broke camp after the Walker attack, Glenn had calmly approached him and said he was willing to go back into Atlanta to look for Merle if Daryl was going back. He feels horrible about leaving him in the first place, that much is evident from the look of guilt that crosses his features when he brings it up, and he tells Daryl he doesn't want to leave if there's a chance that Merle could come back to find them. Daryl is so surprised by the offer that he doesn't speak for nearly a minute before he finally shakes his head in response. He tells Glenn that if Merle is still alive and he made it out of the city at all that he would find a way back to them. He walks away before Glenn can say anything else. That moment stands out more than anything else during his time with the other survivors and he feels he owes Glenn for it because no one else in his life has ever offered to help him with anything.

Glenn shifts behind him, the tinny scritch of the sleeping bag sounding like nails on a chalkboard in the silence. Daryl has his back to him, turned on one side and staring at the walls of the tent as he tries to turn off his brain long enough to sleep. He's not used to sharing a tent with anyone, especially with Merle gone, and it's even worse because Glenn won't stop fucking moving. Every time Daryl is almost to the point of sleep, the kid will twitch and shift in his sleeping bag like a damn puppy and Daryl is instantly awake all over again. He knows the sleeping bag isn't comfortable from personal experience and he also knows it smells like the floor of a cheap bar thanks to it having been owned by Merle but Jesus, enough is enough.

He knows part of it is from the cold, the constant moving probably an attempt to keep warm. Its easily 45 degrees outside, unusually cold for this time of year and this part of the state, and Daryl's own sleeping bag isn't really providing the warmth he'd hoped it would. Daryl figures if he lays still long enough his body heat will be trapped inside the sleeping and he'll be warm enough to sleep. Its wishful thinking and he knows it but hey, it's worth a shot, right?

He hears someone walk by the tent and figures its Shane going to relieve T-Dog from watch duty. That means its well over half past fuck o'clock in the morning and Daryl's still awake. Son of a bitch. He hears Glenn shift behind him again and decides he's had enough of pretending to be asleep. "Yer makin' an awful lot of racket for someone who's supposed to be asleep," he mutters and he swears he can hear Glenn freeze behind him. He doesn't give the kid a chance to say anything before he rolls over onto his back and looks at him.

Glenn looks sheepish and embarrassed in the darkness of the tent and he stammers out an apology. "S-sorry…just more awake than I thought I was, I guess."

Daryl says nothing for a long minute and just continues staring at the kid. The sleeping bag is big enough to swallow him completely and only Glenn's head is poking out of the top. In a way it kind of looks like his body had melted into a pool of blue-black polyester and only his head remained. It's an odd thought and Daryl dismisses it immediately. He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, staring up at the darkened ceiling of the tent. Great, now he's cold all over again. "Fuckin' freezing in here," he mutters more to himself than anyone, rubbing his hands over his arms absently in a vain attempt to warm up a bit.

"Maybe you should start wearing shirts that have sleeves then." Holy shit, was that snark? When did Jackie Chan grow a pair? For a second Daryl is so surprised by the comment that all he can do suppress a laugh into a snort.

"Keep up with that attitude and I'll kick yer scrawny yellow ass outside and let you freeze to death." He shoots back in return and he could swear Glenn flinched. Its not true, they both know it, but he thinks Glenn considers the possibility of the threat longer than he should have. He knows he comes across as rough and abrasive most of the time but he also knows a good majority of what he says is all talk. As much as he hates to admit it, he's gotten used to this whole group dynamic thing and actually does give a shit about them. Merle had always been an asshole growing up and had probably stayed one until his dying day but Daryl actually had some sense of family integrity and even though he'd rather rip out his own teeth than admit it, these people where the closest thing he had to family right now. And Glenn was part of that.

The kid shivers beside him and his teeth chatter in the darkness. He crosses his skinny arms over his chest and tries to conserve some body heat but its not doing much good. Glenn is thin, all long arms and legs like a baby giraffe, and he doesn't have the body fat necessary to keep himself warm in situations like this. Daryl is only slightly better off than he is because he actually has some muscle mass but at the rate they're going now, they'll both freeze to death by morning and wouldn't that be a bitch? Survive the zombie apocalypse only to be taken out by hypothermia. Fucking perfect.

"Come 'ere."

"What?"

"I said come 'ere. I ain't got all day," Daryl mutters, purposely not looking at Glenn as he speaks. He can't believe he's asking this, can't believe he's about to do what he's proposing on doing, but he figures desperate times call for desperate measures. They're both freezing and he's pretty sure if it came down to the two of them dying of exposure in this god forsaken that Glenn would be the first to go. He's not willing to risk that.

"Why-?"

"Jesus, kid, do I gotta spell it out for you? It's fuckin' cold and the two of us lyin' apart like this ain't makin' things any better. So get over here and stop bein' such a damn idiot," Daryl rambles off in an irritated huff. Its embarrassing enough to ask to share body heat with someone but Glenn damn near needs the invitation written on a banner and posted right in front of him to get it. When the kid still doesn't move, Daryl sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. "God dammit…" He reaches out and grabs a fistful of the kid's sleeping back and physically drags him across the floor of the tent. The polyester sleeping bag sliding across the tarp tent floor makes the process much easier than he anticipated.

Glenn is sitting wide-eyed and frozen in the sleeping bag and Daryl rolls his eyes again and sets to work with the zipper. It fights back for a minute and he's not sure how much of that is from the cold and how much of it is from the shitty polyester fabric but he finally gets the zipper loose and pulls it down the middle. He reaches into the kid's sleeping bag and grabs one of his arms, frowning at the coolness of his skin, and drags him bodily into his own sleeping bag and crushes him up against his chest.

Glenn freezes like a rabbit caught in a snare, eyes wide and body rigid. He's taunt like the strings of Daryl's crossbow and he's so still that Daryl can feel his heart thudding madly against his shoulder. Daryl just chuckles and shakes his head. "Relax, Short Round. I'm ain't gonna do anything' to ya." He can tell Glenn is trying to relax but it forced and stiff like the rest of his body is. Daryl sighs and ignores him, closing his eyes and keeping his arms wrapped around the younger man loosely. Eventually he feels Glenn slip his arms around his back, coming to rest across his lower back and waist. He releases a long, slow breath and wiggles again, shifting in Daryl's arms and twitching like he has a nervous tick. He moves again, shifting his shoulders and trying to find out whether he'd rather be closer or farther away and Daryl is getting sick of it.

"I swear to God if you don't stop movin' I'm gonna to string you up by yer ankles and let the Walkers use you as a piñata," he mutters, shifting abruptly and tossing one leg over Glenn's skinny hips and pinning him to the ground. The kid lets out a startled little breath but Daryl ignores it and instead tightens his grip on the younger man, bringing him closer and keeping him there. He moves his head a little bit and tucks Glenn's head beneath his chin, letting his jaw rest against the kid's soft, dark hair. Glenn immediately stops moving and allows himself to relax in Daryl's arms, soaking up the extra body heat like a sponge and literally melting into him.

Glenn's skin is cool against his own at first but after a few minutes it begins to warm back up and he can feel the kid's breathing shift into deeper, more even draws. He's almost asleep and Daryl is too but he figures he needs to say something in regards to the matter to at least cover all his bases.

"You tell anyone about this and I cut yer tongue out, got it?"

He can feel Glenn smile against his collar bone and if he wasn't so damn comfortable he might say something about it. "Got it."

"Good." He closes his eyes and tightens his hold just a bit, sandwiching Glenn's body against his own. He finally feels warm enough to sleep and the steady rise and fall of Glenn's chest against his own is making him drowsy. He closes his eyes, lets out a deep breath, and falls asleep.

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**Thanks for reading guys! :D**


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